


When Your Soul Embarks

by patchwork_panda



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: M/M, Modern AU, Supernatural AU - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-31 06:33:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3968047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patchwork_panda/pseuds/patchwork_panda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Sinja AU in which Ja'far is a Death God and Sinbad has the ability to see ghosts. Takes place in the modern world.<br/>When Sinbad is a child, his parents die in a car accident. Sometimes he wonders why their ghosts don't appear but the only hint he gets is that "maybe they've moved on already." Then he meets Ja'far, a mysterious young man dressed all in white, who is just as interested in Sinbad as he is in Ja'far.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Your Soul Embarks

**Author's Note:**

> Title is taken from the Death Cab for Cutie song "I will follow you into the dark"

The first time Sinbad saw one of them, he was about seven years old. He was at a friend’s birthday party and had just emerged into the bright light of the sunlit patio, a large piece of cake on a paper plate held tightly in his chubby little hands. As he looked around for a place to sit, his eyes were drawn to a quiet child by the rosebushes. He was blonde, wearing old-fashioned clothes, and he gazed forlornly at the party-goers with his wide blue eyes. Why the other children were ignoring him, Sinbad had no idea, but he couldn’t stand the thought of somebody being sad at such a great party.

“Hey,” he called, walking towards the boy. “There’s still some cake left if you want it. It’s over there on the big table.”

Strangely, the boy didn’t answer him. He gave a start as Sinbad approached, evidently shocked that someone was talking to him, and could do nothing more than open and close his mouth like a fish out of water.

“What’s wrong?” Sinbad asked, puzzled. “Don’t you want to join us?”

“Sinbad, who are you talking to?”

“Oh, Drakon! It’s your friend—he’s hiding over here by the bushes.”

But when he turned around, the boy was gone. He glanced at Drakon, who was now looking at him as if he had grown a second head.

“He was right here a second ago, I swear,” Sinbad tried to explain. As he watched his friend’s eyebrows knit together with increasing confusion, he made a shocking realization: Drakon had not seen the boy; in fact, he didn’t even know who Sinbad was talking about.

“Never mind,” he said quickly, laughing it off. “My eyes are playing tricks on me again.”

As the years passed, the sporadic sightings continued and Sinbad swiftly learned not to tell anyone about the strange people he saw. It was hard at first. They looked solid, unlike what he was told to expect by movies and literature, and for the most part, they were generally free of blood or other signs of injury. In other words, they looked exactly the same as everybody else, only they’d occasionally be wearing anachronistic clothing. Sinbad believed he was likely seeing them as they appeared in life. Nonetheless, he knew what they were.

Ghosts.

They didn’t really come to him, begging for help or looking for someone to talk to like some television shows would suggest. No wacky sitcom shenanigans followed either. Actually, despite the fact that he could see the dead, life for Sinbad was pretty boring. That is, until his parents died in a car accident just a few years later. 

For days after the accident, he would stay up at night, watching the driveway, wondering if he would see the car or even his parents emerging from the front seats, laughing and playfully arguing as they had before they’d left. But they never appeared and soon afterwards, he was taken in by a foster family and moved miles away from the house he’d grown up in.

Sinbad had never made a point of actively seeking the spirits’ company, but he found himself longing to see his mother’s smile again and hear his father’s laugh. Once, he traveled back to his old house and actually asked around to see if any of the ghosts nearby had run into either of his parents. But the pink-haired girl who sometimes traveled through his living room only shook her head and offered him a sad smile and an apology.

“Perhaps you’re not seeing them because they’ve already moved on?” she suggested.

At the time, he did not understand what she meant. But then one rainy day in May, the first piece of the puzzle dropped into his life...

He was fourteen years old and on his way home from school. A sudden rainstorm had overtaken him and forced to take shelter in the nearest building, he dragged his dripping and shivering body into a nearby train station. While waiting for the rain to let up, he sat down on a bench near an elderly man, who smiled and soon fell asleep at the opposite end of the wide seat. Sinbad was on the verge of nodding off himself when _he_ appeared: a pale young man with hair as pure-white as his button-down shirt and tailored pants.

He barely noticed the newcomer until the man had passed right in front of him and would not have even noticed him if it weren’t for the icy gust he left in his wake. Most would’ve attributed this to the wind and the rain, but Sinbad knew better. He knew what this particular chill was associated with.

“Hey,” the man whispered, laying his hand gently on the old man’s shoulder. “Wake up. It’s time to go.”

Sinbad watched as his bench-mate stirred, blinking up at the white-haired man through watering and reddened eyes. His wrinkled face broke into an open smile, and for a moment, his expression looked youthful and bright. Without another word, he stood, suddenly full of life, and took the younger man’s proffered arm. Then, he turned towards Sinbad with a soft smile and asked, “Young man, could you please tell my granddaughter ‘thank you’ for me?” When Sinbad nodded, he grinned and tipping his hat in thanks, turned to go. That’s when the man beside him looked right at Sinbad.

He was beautiful. His skin was so smooth and pale, with a light scattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks and his hair looked as soft and white as the feathers of a dove. _And those eyes...!_ While his irises glowed silver, like the surface of the sea on a cloudy day, ever-changing, the depths of his pupils were blacker than a moonless night. When he looked at Sinbad, the teenager thought he could feel that unearthly gaze pierce into his very soul.

Wordlessly, the pale being turned back to the old man, who gripped his arm and they continued on their way out of the station. It was only after they’d disappeared from view that Sinbad looked back at the other side of the bench with a start and saw the old man was somehow still there. However, something was different...

“Sir?” Sinbad called, patting him on the shoulder. But the old man would not wake.

He wanted to shout for a doctor, an ambulance... But his throat was full of sand, his voice had dried up and even if he could speak, he knew it was no use. The old man was gone. Unsure of what to do, he sat there mutely on the bench while it continued to rain steadily outside. Before long, a woman arrived and stopped at the bench; she had the same nose as the old man. As she reached out to take the man’s bags, Sinbad slowly stood, catching her attention.

“Um,” he mumbled, unable to look her in the eyes, “I spoke with him before he fell asleep. He said to tell you ‘thank you.’”

And before she could reply, he slowly walked out of the station and into the pouring rain, preparing for an unpleasant sprint home.

The years passed. Sinbad graduated from middle school, then high school and moved on to college, where he began studying business and making plans for life after school. The novelty of being able to see ghosts had long since faded and the sightings became nothing more than interesting occurrences in the backdrop of his daily comings and goings. Still, seeing ghosts walk around every other day was a constant reminder to him that life was fleeting and precious. It was this thought that led him to sign up on an impulse for a course in basic life support and CPR. Even if there was nothing he could do for the dead, he could still try to help keep the living from joining them...

He had all but forgotten the silver-eyed man until a few weeks after his college graduation, when he was on his way to a job interview. Once again, he was at the train station, waiting for his ride to arrive. He glanced at the clock and then back at the tunnel. Unfortunately, there was no sign of the train yet and he was hardly the only commuter who was beginning to grow frustrated and impatient. A few yards away, someone coughed and tapped a foot. Somewhere behind Sinbad, a baby gurgled and cooed while her mother gently rolled her forward in her stroller. And then, the middle-aged woman to several yards to his right toting a bag of groceries gasped and clutched her free hand to her chest. He looked at her and was about to ask if she was okay when she fell to the ground, unmoving.

“Hey!” Sinbad shouted, sprinting towards her as fast as he could. “Ma’am? Ma’am!”

He shook her by the shoulders but she was unresponsive; a thin sheen of sweat covered her forehead and her breathing was weak and ragged. Her pulse was gone. At once, he laid her back on the ground, placed one hand over the other on top of her rib cage and began to apply chest compressions just as they’d taught him in class. Within moments a small crowd began to gather around them.

“You!” he called out, looking the nearest person squarely in the eye, “Get me an ambulance! You in the black t-shirt, go get me an AED. Ask the staff at the help desk for one NOW!”

“That won’t be necessary,” a quiet voice sighed.

Sinbad thought he felt his own heart stop. Slowly, he looked up and as he searched the crowd, he felt a chill creep through his very bones. Something about the finality with which the words had been spoken unnerved him and his eyes were soon drawn to a particular person in the throng. There, between two schoolgirls stood a man with white hair and strange silver eyes, dressed primly in a white blazer and slacks.

The man calmly strode forward, silently slipping through the spaces between the people around him like the wind through the trees. As the man approached, Sinbad realized he wasn’t looking to aid the rescue attempts but kept those strange silver eyes trained on the woman on the ground. Before long, he had reached them and gently laid one hand upon Sinbad’s. At once, Sinbad’s movements stopped entirely—it was as if his hand had been plunged into a bucket of ice water but that was not the case. The mysterious man’s hand was rapidly passing through both of Sinbad’s and soon, half of that pale forearm was submerged within the woman’s chest.

“I’m sorry,” the man whispered, “But it is your time.”

He then extracted his hand and let it hover just over the woman’s head. To Sinbad, there appeared to be rays of golden, dappled sunbeams spilling out from between his clenched fingers. Suddenly, the woman’s eyes snapped open and, startled, Sinbad leaped back with a yelp, catching the man’s attention. He raised an eyebrow and squinted at Sinbad, as if seeing him for the first time. Then he shrugged and turned back to the woman.

“Let’s go,” he said, offering her a hand.

She sat up, patting her chest and testing the feeling with a long breath in, then out. When satisfied, she nodded and, taking the man’s hand, allowed him to pull her to her feet; she began to follow him out of the station. It was then that Sinbad found his voice.

“Wait!” he yelled, scrambling to his feet. “Where are you taking her?”

They looked at him, the man with some interest.

“Do you know him?” he asked the woman.

When she shook her head, the man frowned, pulled a white smartphone out of a hidden pocket in his blazer and scrolled through it. He quickly scrolled through the screen, then looked up and addressed Sinbad once again.

“I don’t know how you’re able to see me but I don’t have time for this. I’m on a schedule and I’m not supposed to come and get you for a very, very long time. Until then, please wait patiently and enjoy your life okay? Now if you’ll excuse us...”

But Sinbad was too quick for them. In a flash, he raced in front of them and stood there with his arms crossed, effectively blocking their path.

“What is it now?” the freckled man asked somewhat crossly.

“I’ve seen you before, at this exact train station,” Sinbad said, directing his statement at the man across from him. “Who are you?”

Thoughtfully bringing his fingers to his chin, the man paused momentarily, as if remembering something. Then, his eyes lit up in recognition and his lip twitched into an amused half-smile.

“I think you already know the answer to that. Now please, step aside. Like I said, I’m very busy.”

“But I have more questions for you!”

He brushed past Sinbad without answering and continued with the woman on the way out of the station. However, just before they reached the doors, the white-haired man turned and smiled sadly.

“How about this? If you can figure out who I am, call my name at midnight, on the fourth of next month. If I have time, I’ll answer your questions. Until then, Sinbad.”

The glass doors slid open and in a violent gust of white feathers and blinding light, the man and the woman vanished.


End file.
